The Banishment of the Cid XXXV
Before their breasts the war-shields there have they buckledstrong,The lances with the pennons they laid them low along,And they have bowed their faces over the saddlebow,And thereaway to strike them with brave hearts did they go.He who in happy hour was born with a great voice did call:
"For the love of the Creator, smite them, my gallants ah.I am Roy Diaz of Bivár, the Cid, the Campeador."
At the rank where was Per Vermudóz the mighty strokes they bore.They are three hundred lances that each a pennon bear.At one blow every man of them his Moor has slaughtered there,And when they wheeled to charge anew as many more were slain.
You might see great clumps of lances lowered and raised again,And many a shield of leather pierced and shattered by the stroke,And many a coat of mail run through, its meshes all to-broke,And many a white pennon come forth all red with blood,And running without master full many a charger good.
Cried the Moors "Mahound!" The Christians shouted on Saint Jamesof grace.On the field Moors thirteen hundred were slain in little space.
Words in this poem
- saddlebow n.
- The bow or arch in the front part of a saddle, or the pieces which form the front. [AS. sadelboga.]
- pennon n.
- A wing; a pinion. [Cf. Pinion.]
- broke v. i.
- To transact business for another. Brome. [See Broker, and cf. Brook.]
- charger n.
- One who, or that which charges.
- mahound n.
- A contemptuous name for Mohammed; hence, an evil spirit; a devil.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Banishment of the Cid XXXV is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Lay of the Cid, Project Gutenberg ebook #6088, the R. Selden Rose and Leonard Bacon translation; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Anonymous, The Banishment of the Cid XXXV, in The Lay of the Cid (1919), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #6088, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/lay-of-the-cid/the-banishment-of-the-cid-xxxv.html, id L15045.
Form and metre
The Banishment of the Cid XXXV is 20 lines in 5 verse paragraphs. It is in rhyming couplets, 50% of the lines. The metre is iambic heptameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 80%). 80% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 12.6 syllables. 2 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 10% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in rhyming couplets, other poems in iambic heptameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -AA--- buckled · strongA · alongA · saddlebow · go · call
- 3 -AA- bore · bearA · thereA · slain
- 4 -AABB again · strokeA · brokeA · bloodB · goodB
- 5 -AA james · graceA · spaceA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic heptameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Before their breasts the war-shields there have they buckled | 12 | ··········/˘ |
| strong, | 1 | · |
| The lances with the pennons they laid them low along, | 13 | ·/˘········˘/ |
| And they have bowed their faces over the saddlebow, | 13 | ·····/˘···/˘˘ |
| And thereaway to strike them with brave hearts did they go. | 13 | ············· |
| He who in happy hour was born with a great voice did call: | 15 | ···/˘/˘········ |
| "For the love of the Creator, smite them, my gallants ah. | 14 | ·····˘/˘···/˘· |
| I am Roy Diaz of Bivár, the Cid, the Campeador." | 14 | ···/·········· |
| At the rank where was Per Vermudóz the mighty strokes they bore. | 15 | ··········/˘··· |
| They are three hundred lances that each a pennon bear. | 13 | ···/˘/˘···/˘· |
| At one blow every man of them his Moor has slaughtered there, | 15 | ···/˘˘······/˘· |
| And when they wheeled to charge anew as many more were slain. | 14 | ······˘/·/˘··· |
| You might see great clumps of lances lowered and raised again, | 14 | ······/˘/˘··˘/ |
| And many a shield of leather pierced and shattered by the stroke, | 15 | ·/˘···/˘··/˘··· |
| And many a coat of mail run through, its meshes all to-broke, | 15 | ·/˘·······/˘··· |
| And many a white pennon come forth all red with blood, | 13 | ·/˘··/˘······ |
| And running without master full many a charger good. | 14 | ·/˘··/˘·/˘·/˘· |
| Cried the Moors "Mahound!" The Christians shouted on Saint James | 13 | ······/˘/˘··· |
| of grace. | 2 | ·· |
| On the field Moors thirteen hundred were slain in little space. | 14 | ····///˘···/˘· |
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